


Yours

by Qayin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sexual Slavery, Stiles is handed off as a gift from Peter to Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29721924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qayin/pseuds/Qayin
Summary: “Besides, I don’t fuck people who are unwilling,” Derek said.“How very chivalrous of you,” Peter snarked and looked at the kid as well. “Stiles, how willing are you to crawl under the desk and suck Derek off right now?”The kid shifted from one foot to the other and glanced away from Derek’s bookcase onto said desk, and by extension Derek. His cheeks flushed an admittedly lovely shade of pink before he cast his eyes to the floor.“Very,” he said quietly. Peter hummed in satisfaction and smirked.“There you go,” he said.“Just because you make him say it doesn’t mean he wants it,” Derek said. Peter rolled his eyes and stood.“Now you’re just being difficult.” Peter clapped his hands and smiled at Derek. “He’s yours, anyway. You can always hand him off to the rest of the pack if you decide he’s not to your satisfaction.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 80





	Yours

“Nephew,” Peter said as he stepped into the office. Derek glanced up from his laptop and straightened when he saw Peter was not alone. In his wake there was a kid, maybe sixteen, with a buzzcut and a large bruise on his face. He had a split lip and he held his body like he was ready to run any second. 

Derek closed down the laptop and turned his attention to them. Peter sank casually into one of the armchairs opposite Derek’s desk while the kid’s eyes darted around the office. 

“Who’s this?” Derek asked. Peter grinned and glanced over to the kid. 

“Your new project,” Peter said. The kid shifted on his feet and glanced nervously at Derek before his eyes quickly darted away again. 

Derek frowned and really looked at him. He was skinny but obviously had some muscle-mass. He was dressed horribly in a t-shirt with the Powerpuff girls on, layered with a red flannel shirt and worn jeans and sneakers. The brief second their eyes had met he had noticed dark-rich brown-coloured eyes, almost like amber, or perhaps whiskey. Derek loved brown eyes. The thought made him frown because it meant that Peter was playing on his weaknesses. 

“No,” Derek said. Peter scoffed and put his head in his hand. 

“At least try him before you decide.” Peter leered in a way that made Derek thoroughly uncomfortable, if only because the level of casualness radiating from his uncle was so… calm and collected. Then again, everything about the facade Peter showed in public was calm and collected, so Derek didn’t know why he was surprised. “He’s properly trained, I assure you.” 

“Did you hit him?” Derek asked. Peter shrugged. 

“He has a quick mouth,” he said pleasantly. “Nothing that can’t be trained away - or overlooked if you put the mouth to other uses.” 

So that answered his question then. Derek sighed and leaned back in his chair. “So why give him to me?” 

“Derek,” Peter said with a flourish. “Can’t I just be concerned for your health and happiness? Want to do something nice for my darling nephew?” 

The kid made a face like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Derek looked back at Peter and scoffed. 

“Peter, you are incapable of genuine sincerity,” he said. Peter placed a hand over his heart and looked properly offended. 

“You wound me,” he said cheerfully, then pointed at Derek and narrowed his eyes. “This is exactly what I mean. You are cold - dare I even say it? - cruel, and you need something to distract you from your terrible workload.” 

Derek smiled cooly. 

“Well I learned from the best,” he said. For a second it looked like Peter was unsure whether to be flattered or offended. Then Derek glanced over to the kid and set his jaw. “Besides, I don’t fuck people who are unwilling.” 

“How very chivalrous of you,” Peter snarked then looked at the kid as well. “Stiles, how willing are you to crawl under the desk and suck Derek off right now?” 

The kid once again shifted from one foot to the other and glanced away from Derek’s bookcase onto said desk, and by extension Derek. His cheeks flushed an admittedly lovely shade of pink before he cast his eyes to the floor. 

“Very,” he said quietly. Peter hummed in satisfaction and smirked. 

“There you go,” he said. 

“Just because you make him say it doesn’t mean he wants it,” Derek said. Peter rolled his eyes and stood. 

“Now you’re just being difficult.” Peter clapped his hands and smiled at Derek. “He’s yours, anyway. You can always hand him off to the rest of the pack if you decide he’s not to your satisfaction.” 

“You’re not leaving him here,” Derek said, but by then Peter was already out the door. 

“I’m sorry nephew, but I must run.” Peter winked and smirked. “Enjoy.” 

The door closed behind him and Derek was now alone with the kid. He sighed, then faced the kid. He gave him a thorough look-over before he spoke. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Stiles.” Derek raised an eyebrow. 

“What’s your real name?” 

“ _ Stiles _ ,” Stiles said. Derek scoffed again but leaned back. 

“Well, what I said to my uncle is true, I don’t fuck people who are unwilling.” Derek watched as Stiles flinched at his words, but the kid didn’t leave the spot on the floor. Derek sighed. “Go home, kid.” 

Stiles remained silent, then instead of turning to flee he walked over to the chair Peter had occupied and slowly sank down in it. 

“I can’t,” Stiles said. “Because I don’t have one.” 

Derek watched him, but he couldn’t hear the tell-tale sign of a lie in Stiles’ heartbeat. He crooked his head and looked at the Powerpuff girls t-shirt. 

His day had just gotten more complicated. 

* * *

Derek managed to work an hour before Stiles distracted him too much to get any actual work done. The kid was silent through the whole thing, but silence perhaps was too kind of a word. True, Stiles didn’t talk, but after fifteen minutes he was jumping his leg, then fiddled with a worn button on his flannel, then he started tapping out a chaotic drumming with his fingers. He was also squirming around in the chair, looking for a moment at the bookshelf before his eyes slid over to the diplomas on the walls, to the few family and pack-photos. 

It was distracting. Derek wasn’t one to clock out early, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to get any proper work done with Stiles in his office, so with a sigh, he closed down the laptop, put it away in his brief-case and stood up. 

“Come on, then,” he said. Stiles practically bounced up, obviously excited to do  _ anything _ , but Derek noted that the tension in his shoulders remained. 

Derek took Stiles down to the garage and neither spoke during that time. It was only once they reached the Camaro that Stiles actually stopped in his tracks and stared at it. 

“This is your car?” he asked incredulously. Derek scoffed, which was the closest Derek came to a laugh these days. 

“One of them,” he said, somewhat smugly and slipped into the driver’s side. He watched Stiles sit down in awe and stare around at the interior. The eyes were wide and yeah, beautiful. Fucking Peter. 

“Seatbelt,” Derek ordered. Stiles hurried to put it on, and once Derek was certain he was locked down he started the car and drove home. Throughout the ride, Stiles kept shifting and drumming his fingers against stuff - his knee and the car door being his favourites - as he stared out at the city like he had never seen it before. 

“Where are you from, Stiles?” Derek asked eventually. His tone was casual, but when he spoke Stiles’ eyes immediately snapped to him and he gave him a suspicious look. 

“California,” he answered stiffly. Derek didn’t say anything, just nodded and kept driving. They didn’t speak until they reached Derek’s house and Stiles climbed out and saw the line of cars in the garage. 

“You weren’t kidding,” Stiles said and eyed the Porsche next to them. Derek scoffed again and led them into the house. 

Stiles’ expression was one of shocked awe as they walked. Derek knew the house looked good. Things didn’t cost as much as this house did if it couldn’t impress guests. The interior designer who had decorated the whole house didn’t charge as much as he had paid if it wasn’t amazing, but somehow Stiles’ awe made him a little self-conscious. 

Here was a self-proclaimed homeless teenager who somehow had ended up the property of Peter Hale, billionaire and resident asshole, and - Derek guessed - now the property of Derek Hale. Also billionaire. Also an asshole. 

He pushed that thought aside and first went to his home office where he left his laptop, then he took Stiles to his bedroom. 

The kid stepped inside, but hesitantly, and he stopped and stared at the bed once he was inside. Derek ignored that as well and wandered over to the closet. 

“I’m not sure I have anything that’ll fit you,” he said and looked Stiles over, then he fished out the skinniest t-shirt he owned and tossed it over to the kid. It landed in his face and broke the intense focus Stiles had on the bed. He looked startled but clung to the shirt in silence. 

Derek fished forth a pair of sweatpants he couldn’t even remember when he used last and handed them over to Stiles as well. At least the string would keep them up on his narrow hips, Derek reasoned. And anything was better than what the kid wore right now. 

“The bathroom’s over there. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready,” Derek said with a nod. Stiles hesitated for a second, then he walked over and stepped inside. Derek slipped out from the bedroom and went to the kitchen. 

On his phone he googled Stiles and California, but all that showed up was the latest trends in Californian fashion. Not quite what he was after. He sent a text to Isaac, with a brief description of Stiles’ appearance. 

_ ‘On it,’ _ the text read. Satisfied Derek started warming the dinner his housekeeper had prepared the night before. 

Fifteen minutes later Stiles appeared in the kitchen, dressed in Derek’s clothes. The pants were a bit too long, but the string held them up to his waist at least. Even though the shirt was the tightest Derek owned it was still too big for Stiles, and on his narrow frame the appearance was one of pyjamas. 

Derek wasn’t sure what he thought about Stiles in pyjamas that obviously belonged to Derek. It was intimate in a way that he hadn’t anticipated and drew Derek’s thoughts to other intimate things that could happen between them. 

He pushed that aside and focused the kid with a levelled look. “Are you hungry?” 

Stiles curiously looked around the kitchen and sank down in one of the barstools by the kitchen island. 

“I could eat,” he said, and just as he did his stomach growled loudly. Derek ignored the delicate blush that spread over Stiles’ cheeks and turned his attention back to heating up food. 

“Plates are over there,” he said with a nod. Stiles slid down and trotted over, and when he reached for the cabinet the shirt slid up and exposed a sliver of pale flesh. Derek tore his eyes away and grumpily put food onto the plates Stiles handed him. 

No matter what he thought about Peter trying to manipulate him Peter had been right in some regards. Derek had been working a lot lately, and it had been a long time since he let loose. Partly it really was because he didn’t have the time, but Derek also knew another reason was that he was hesitant to let someone in. 

The most spectacular failure had been Kate and Derek couldn’t do that again. But a project was not necessarily a bad idea then. The kid was already his according to Peter, and the comment about Stiles being properly trained told him it wouldn’t be like he took the kid’s virginity or anything. 

He’d see what Isaac could dig up, then he would decide. If Stiles actually didn’t have a home to return to then Derek turning him away would be cruel. He knew that for many people this was the only way to survive. It was certainly a better option than living in debt and poverty. 

They ate by the dining room table, sitting opposite each other through the entire meal. Neither of them spoke much. Stiles wolfed down the food in front of him, then stared longingly at the rests in the bowl at the middle of the table. Derek watched him in silence. The kid didn’t ask for seconds, just watched for a moment longer before he looked away. 

Derek wondered if his previous owner had refused him seconds, and that’s why he didn’t even try to ask now. Then he thought about Peter slapping him for apparently talking, and wondered if Stiles was worried Derek would treat him similarly. 

“Eat more,” Derek said. Stiles glanced over to him, surprised, then very slowly placed more food on his plate and started wolfing that down as well. Derek ignored the feeling of satisfaction that blossomed in his stomach at that. All he did was to feed the kid. Jesus. 

* * *

After dinner Derek pressed the TV remote in Stiles’ hand and placed the kid in front of the TV, then he went into his office and got some work done in peace. He was only mildly distracted from the TV and the sounds of Stiles moving about every so often in the other room, and he mostly managed to ignore it until it was evening. 

As it was he only really pulled away because he received a text from Isaac, telling him to check his mail. When he did he saw it was an update on Stiles. The mail contained everything Isaac had managed to dig up, including Stiles’ real name - a first name Derek barely managed to read, and a last name that only was slightly more pronounceable. He could sort of see why the kid went by Stiles. If he squinted it almost made sense from his last name, at least. 

Sixteen years old, born in Beacon Hills. Derek raised an eyebrow at that, but then he shook it away. The Hales had loads of connections still in California, it wasn’t strange that this kid came from his hometown. 

Stiles had lost his mother young, some kind of rare dementia. His father, the sheriff, had drowned in both debt and alcohol for a few years before the father passed - something about a misfire of his own gun. There had been heavy traces of alcohol in his system and the corner had been unable to rule out suicide. 

The debt had been inherited to Stiles who at the time had been fourteen, and from there Stiles had taken a deal - ten years of servitude, then he would be debt-free. 

So at least that part was legitimate. Derek wouldn’t actually have put it past Peter to just grab a random person and said they were Derek’s just for the hell of it. But Stiles was a project and would be for another eight years no matter what Derek did with him. If Derek sent him away, the kid would probably just walk to the nearest office and someone else would buy him. 

Derek looked at previous owners and found he recognized all the names listed. The first was Deucalion, then Peter. Lastly stood his own name, Derek Hale. 

Fuck. 

Derek sighed, closed down his laptop and stood up. He walked out from the office, then found himself drawn to the living room and Stiles who was rapidly engaged in a cooking-show. The woman on TV had a British accent, wore a brightly coloured hijab and an even brighter smile as she explained to the camera how to cook salmon and it took Stiles a few minutes before he even noticed Derek had arrived. 

When he did he twisted to look at him. The clothes still looked intimate on him, and Derek… well. His annoyance from before was starting to slip away, and it took some of his resolve with it. 

“Are you hungry?” Derek asked because asking about food was safe. Stiles hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. Derek stared at him a moment longer, trying to decide if he was truthful or not, then decided to believe him. 

“I have to get up early tomorrow,” Derek said. “I’m going to go to bed.” 

He heard Stiles’ heart skip at that and watched as Stiles’ dark eyes quickly scuttled over Derek’s form, then Stiles stood from the couch and turned the TV off with the remote. His heart was beating fast, somewhere between anxiety and… lust. Yes, confused and erratic, but definitely lust. 

“I’ll show you to the guest bedroom,” Derek said, trying to keep his tone neutral. Stiles stopped in his tracks and something alike confusion filled his face. Maybe even disappointment, but that emotion was quickly replaced on his face. 

“So you’re giving me away to your pack, then?” Stiles asked quietly. Derek raised an eyebrow. When Stiles met his gaze he suddenly seemed a lot braver than he had been before. They looked at each other in silence.

“I told you, I don’t fuck people who are unwilling,” Derek said. Stiles set his jaw stubbornly and straightened his neck. 

“I’m not,” he said defiantly. 

“Just because you say that because you’re scared I’m going to toss you out if we don’t fuck doesn’t mean you’re willing,” Derek said calmly, copying what he had said in the office. He saw something flash in Stiles’ eyes, then Stiles grinned. 

“Now you’re just being difficult,” Stiles said, doing a pretty accurate copy of Peter. Derek actually snorted and shook his head. 

“Uh-huh,” he snarked. “But you can relax, I’m not going to toss you out.” 

Stiles grin fell and his expression turned thoughtful. It looked like he wanted to ask why but physically had to bite his tongue to not do so. 

“Come on,” Derek ordered and started towards the guest bedroom. Tomorrow they’d go out to get Stiles clothes that actually fit him, and so Derek would be free of these intimate, filthy thoughts that ran through his head whenever he saw the kid in Derek’s own clothes. 

Maybe then he’d be able to decide what to do about this whole situation. 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what this is, to be honest! xD


End file.
